Coming Attractions of the Soul
by JoanieNobody
Summary: My version of the episode "Cigarette Burns" starring Norman Reedus as Kirby and my OC Haley Timpson. Follows the plot of the episode for the most part, largely from Haley's POV. Rating for future scenes of gore, language, and some adult content.
1. Dude, It's Argento!

**A/N:** For the most part, I really enjoyed _Masters of Horror_. Of all the episodes in that short-lived series, my absolute favorite (for obvious reasons) is "Cigarette Burns" which was directed by badass horrormeister John Carpenter and starred (you guessed it) Norman Reedus as Kirby Sweetman. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend you do before reading this story, otherwise it might not make as much sense. Some of the dialog in this chapter is taken directly from the episode, with the occasional paraphrasing.

I decided to write this story partly from the POV of the secondary character Timpson, Kirby's employee at his struggling independent movie theater The Vogue, only because I can't write a Reedus fic without including a love interest, I did a bit of gender-bending and made Timpson into a girl. I also filled out the personality to make her more my own OC. Not sure how well this'll go over, but what the heck. It'll be fun!

**Disclaimer: _Masters of Horror_, the episode "Cigarette Burns", its characters, Norman Reedus (alas!), none of it's mine. Nada.**

Haley Timpson loved her job. Sure, the theater was old and poorly maintained, had more empty seats than full most nights, and was so far in the red it was almost black again - but how many people could say they got paid to watch the best classic horror movies by the greatest names every night? It was a sweet deal as far as she was concerned.

Plus, it gave her plenty of opportunities to add to her collection.

Tonight was their last showing of _Profondo Rosso_, a.k.a. _Deep Red_, by Italian horror-master Dario Argento. Once the film was over and the nearly half-filled theater emptied out, Haley got ready to box the reels. But first, a little personal business to attend to.

Haley spun the reel, fingers skimming over the celluloid while her eyes were riveted to the swiftly passing frames. She was a thirty-ish woman of average height with curly, dark brown hair that hung just past her shoulders, brown eyes, a wide full-lipped mouth, and freckles dusted across her petite nose. She might've been considered pretty if she ever bothered with things like makeup and wearing feminine clothes, but Haley never saw the point of all that fuss. She dressed for comfort: cargo pants, red Converse sneakers, baggy shirts (always long-sleeved, even in summer). Her friends joked more than once that she looked like a bag-lady, only cleaner, to which she always replied, "Awesome! That's just what I was going for."

With a cry of triumph, she halted the reel and leaned over the exposed film strip. "There you are, you sonofabitch." She didn't always talk like a girl, either.

One of the great things about working in a place that showed old movies was all the old equipment available, including an honest-to-god film splicer. Two quick cuts, and a single cel tumbled free. Haley joined the sliced ends seamlessly together. At worst, there would be a slight hiccup the next time somebody showed this movie. Easily shrugged-off, or so she told herself.

The reel was slipped into its octagonal case and carried downstairs with its twin to The Vogue's basement, which doubled as storage space and the theater owner's office. Aside from the projection room, this was Haley's favorite place in the whole joint. Cluttered with all sorts of movie memorabilia, books and journals about obscure films, and comfortable old secondhand furniture. It was like the world's nerdiest rumpus room.

Kirby, owner and manager of The Vogue, was sitting behind his desk, deep in thought. The eight-ball he kept on his desk was gripped in his left hand, held up next to his temple, his fingers slowly rolling the smooth pool ball around and around. Haley noticed he was staring at the framed photo of his girlfriend, Annie. Haley never met Annie. She died before the theater even opened for business, two years ago. The pain of her loss was still fresh, though. Anybody could see that from the look in Kirby's eyes. They didn't talk much about his personal life, but Haley was pretty sure he never went out, unless it was to research or hunt down rare copies of obscure movies for rich people - a side business that barely allowed them to scrape by here. No dating, not even a casual night out at a bar. Haley knew because she'd asked him out more than once (just as a _friend_, she emphasized), but he always turned her down.

Haley's footfalls were a little heavier than necessary, jarring her boss out of his grim musings. Kirby straightened in his chair and set the eight-ball down. His face morphed into that warm smile that won her over the day he interviewed her for the job. It made him look like a kid, even though he was a few years older than her. "Hey, Timpson. What's up?" He never called her by her first name.

Haley set the film cases down. "Last show's ending in fifteen minutes. _Profondo Rosso_ ready to go," she announced, whipping out her album from the shelf she'd stowed it on.

Kirby stuck a cigarette in his mouth and nodded at the book in her hands while he rummaged in his pocket for a lighter. "Did you, uh, get a souvenir?"

He knew all about her illicit collecting, even though it was technically theft. The films they showed weren't theirs. They were rented from other movie houses and the occasional private collector. So, every time Haley did her little snipping routine, she was damaging personal property. But she hadn't been caught yet, so she wasn't worried, and Kirby didn't seem to care one way or the other.

"Dude," she said, holding up the newly acquired film cel, "It's _Argento_. Had to do it!" _Duh_, her tone implied. She flipped through the pages of her album, looking for an empty pocket. Row upon row of film cels filled the book, each one labeled with the director's name, and each one sporting a pale circle in one corner. Since movies came on more than one reel, several of the frames towards the end were marked with this circle to let the projectionist know when it was time to feed in the next reel.

Kirby shook his head in resigned amusement. "What's with you and 'cigarette burns'?" he asked, using one of the many nicknames for those little circles.

Haley held up the cel to the light, gazing at it with the appreciation of a connoisseur. "When you watch a film and one of those 'bugs' appears...you know, y'know?" Okay, so it wasn't Shakespeare, but he got the point. "Something's gonna happen," her voice rose in excitement, "Hold on, here it comes! You take 'em out," she grinned wickedly, "all of a sudden it's anarchy."

Kirby snorted. "Speaking of anarchy, try not to burn the place down while I'm away."

"You get a new client?" Haley asked as she tucked the cel into an available pocket.

"Yeah," her boss sighed, "I got an incredible offer. The guy kinda freaks me out, though."

"Don't they all," Haley smirked, scribbling Argento's name onto the label. "So, what film is it this time?"

Kirby hesitated for just a second, then told her, "_La Fin Absolue Du Monde_."

Haley burst out laughing 'til she realized he hadn't joined in. In fact, he looked dead serious. Haley's eyebrows shot up. "No shit?"

"No shit."

"B-but, dude!" she stammered, "It's impossible! It's like that missing 'Spider-Pit Sequence' from the original _King Kong_. Nobody's ever seen it, it's just a rumor!"

" _La Fin Absolue Du Monde_ did exist," Kirby reminded her.

"Exactly! Did, as in _past tense_. It's just like all the history says, it got torched. That shit about a copy surviving's just an urban legend."

"Not according to the client's source."

Haley quirked a skeptical brow. "You meet this 'source' yourself? You sure it ain't some looney living in the guy's basement?"

A weird look passed across Kirby's face. "They...convinced me."

"Uh huh." She slapped the album closed and tucked it under her arm. "Hope you got paid up front, is all I'm sayin'."

"He's paying all my expenses," Kirby said, looking a little shame-faced that he hadn't demanded cash up front, "If I deliver the film, I'll earn enough to pay off my debt with Matthews, plus the client said he'd allow us a two-week screening."

_That_ intrigued her. "Two weeks?" Her fingers tightened around the book tucked under her arm. Imagine adding a bug from Hans Backovik's lost film to her collection! Everybody'd say she was full of shit, but who cared?

Kirby smirked, knowing exactly what she was thinking. He stubbed out the butt of his cigarette, got up from his desk, and headed for the door, patting her shoulder in passing. "G'night, Timpson."

"G'night..." she replied in a distracted voice.

* * *

Home for Haley Timpson was a modest one-bedroom loft, crammed with shelves of DVDs and VHS tapes, many with titles unfamiliar to anyone who wasn't a die-hard film buff. There were also numerous movie posters covering the walls - all replicas, sadly, since she'd never be able to afford the real thing. The posters depicted such films as _Nosferatu_, _The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari_, _Night of the Living Dead_, and _Psycho_, to name a few.

Most of the furniture Haley owned she got from yard sales and thrift stores. The brown-and-green plaid couch she plopped herself down on was literally dumped out on the curb across from her place. It was a helluva find, once she gave it a thorough cleaning.

Haley slouched in the comfortable seat with a slice of leftover pizza in one hand and picked up the remote with the other. She'd left her copy of _Ringu_ in the DVD player and decided another viewing couldn't hurt. Ten minutes in, though, her thoughts wandered. She always got kinda bummed when Kirby was out of town on one of his film hunts. It got lonely at the theater without him to talk to. The only other employees were the chick who worked in the box office and the pimply kid who ran the concession stand and doubled as an usher. She could barely stand to be around them and she knew the feeling was mutual. Thank god they were just part-timers.

Making friends was never all that easy for Haley. She could count the number of real friends she had on one hand, not including her thumb. It took a while for her to warm up to people, but the first time she met Kirby she felt comfortable with him. He was the first person she ever met who didn't make her feel like she was some kind of freak, who liked the same things she liked and actually seemed to enjoy her many quirks. If the ghost of his girlfriend wasn't still hanging over him, maybe things would've gone even further. Haley tried not to think about that too much. Things were the way they were. Who was she to resent his pain?

Haley sighed and turned off the TV. She wasn't in the mood anymore. She tossed the pizza crust back into the box, got up from the couch, and headed for bed, leaving the pizza box on the table to take care of in the morning.


	2. Lesser Genres

**A/N:** Once again, I'm using some dialog from the episode in this chapter. See if you can spot it.

**Disclaimer: If you can recognize it, it ain't mine.**

In addition to being the projectionist, Haley wore many other, smaller hats around the place. Her least favorite chore was changing the marquee, because it meant climbing up that goddamned rickety ladder. If asked she'd say she wasn't afraid of heights, she was afraid of falling.

Haley descended her aluminum nemesis one baby step at a time, trying not to tense up every time the damn thing shuddered under her. It didn't help her peace of mind that one arm was occupied with holding the big plastic letters and the pole used to attach or detach them to the sign. When her feet finally stood on solid pavement, she let out a sigh of relief and headed back inside to switch the letters for different ones to put on the marquee. She unlocked The Vogue's main door and strode in. As she made her way across the lobby a sixth sense caused her shoulders to tense. Some asshole snuck in behind her!

"Uh, excuse me, sir," she began in her least polite voice, turning to face the intruder, "but we're not open y-" She froze at the sight of the fifty-something man in an expensive business suit wearing an expression of severe displeasure. _Oh crap._ "M-Mister Matthews!" Haley stammered. She couldn't help it, the guy freaked her out with that stare of his. Nevertheless, she tried her best to spit out a halfway plausible excuse to help Kirby avoid yet another heated confrontation. "Listen, uh, Kirby's not here right now. I can tell him you came-"

At that exact moment, Kirby came trotting down the stairs from the second floor lobby. His slight not to Haley let her know he'd take care of this. Haley shot Matthews an unconvincingly surprised look. "Oh wow, look at that," she blurted and beat a hasty retreat. She didn't go far, though. Her excuse to herself was that she needed to get those letters to put up on the marquee. They were kept in a drawer behind the concession stand.

Haley didn't normally eavesdrop on other people's conversations, but she could never seem to tear herself away whenever Kirby and Matthews went at it. Matthews was Annie's father, which sort of made him Kirby's not-quite-father-in-law. Haley could tell the two men never liked each other, but ever since Annie's death, it was like a cloud of poison rose up whenever they were near each other. It was Matthews's money that bought The Vogue, because he couldn't say no when his daughter asked for it as a "wedding present." There was a catch, though. The money wasn't a gift, it was a loan, and he'd been relentlessly hounding Kirby to pay him back ever since.

Their voices were too low to make out what they were saying at first, but that didn't last. Haley's stomach clenched as the two men got more and more agitated and their voices rose to near-shouts.

"...every time you stop by, every time you call, I feel like I'm getting cut open," beneath the anger, Kirby's pain rang out, "I see Annie's face every day, all day long. You have no idea what I'm going through to get you outta my life."

Haley's throat tightened at the sadness she heard in his voice, still raw even years after Annie's death.

Matthews's face twisted in an ugly smile. "You have one week," he hissed, "If you can't get the money, I'll take great delight in coming down here and tearing this shithole down."

And with that, the older man turned and stormed out of the theater. Kirby threw up both hands and flipped a double-bird at the guy's retreating back. Under different circumstances, Haley would've laughed at the childish display. Kirby then stomped out of the room without throwing so much as a glance her way. Haley stood alone in the lobby for a moment, then looked down at the stack of plastic letters in her hands as if she'd forgotten what they were for. Then she shook herself and went to finish putting up the sign.

A couple of hours later, after she'd gotten all her little chores done and Kirby had time to cool off, she found him in the basement slouched behind his desk, a hardcover book lying open in front of him. He glanced up at Haley's approach. Anyone who didn't know him would've thought he was perfectly fine, but Haley knew from the subtle changes to his face that he was still down. He always was after a bitch-session with Matthews. Haley went with her tried and true remedy and pulled out a joint from her breast pocket and lit it. Kirby waited until she took a couple of puffs before he held out his hand. She wordlessly passed it to him. While he took a hit, she leaned over to see what he was reading, absently tugging the cuffs of her long sleeves further down her wrists. It looked like a collection of articles. She checked out the author's name on the upper margin of the closest page. "A.K. Meyers?"

"A well known film critic back in the day," Kirby explained, "Big fan of the esoteric."

"Hmph," Haley grunted. She wasn't a big fan of critics herself. She always saw them as something like parasites, the way they made their living off of other people's talent. Plus, she didn't like the idea of somebody telling her what her opinion should be. She'd much rather make her own decisions about how good or crappy something was.

She picked up the book and skimmed over the page. Oh great, he wasn't just a critic, he was pretentious as well. Haley started reading aloud in a pompous voice, "'In order to fully appreciate _La Fin Absolue Du Monde_, one must understand the context in which it premiered. The Sitges Festival is still young, but there is a boldness to their programming that makes this an essential stop for any fan of what are typically thought of as lesser genres. Science fiction, fantasy, or _horror_,'" she drawled the last word theatrically.

Kirby smirked at her performance. "He hasn't been heard from in quite a while," he mentioned.

"Probably hiding in shame from writing this crap," Haley muttered, dropping the book back on the desk. "Think he might help you find the film?"

"Only one way to find out."

"You even know where this guy is?"

Kirby nodded. "He lives in upstate New York. Kind of a recluse."

"Well, when ya see him, tell him I'm a _huge_ fan." She rolled her eyes.

Kirby chuckled and passed the joint back to her. "I'll get his autograph for you."

* * *

Kirby took off for Carthage, NY the next day, leaving Haley more or less in charge by virtue of being the only person who worked full-time at The Vogue. It didn't take long for Kirby's absence to leave her feeling pretty glum. By the end of the first day she found herself slumped in his office chair behind his desk, staring at all the familiar knickknacks and loose papers that took up whatever space wasn't already occupied by the ancient computer. Haley's gaze eventually settled on Annie's photo.

Looking at her smiling face, you wouldn't know that a few months after that picture was taken she wound up in the bathtub with her wrists cut. Kirby almost never talked about it, but Haley could be patient, and for whatever reason Kirby felt at ease enough with her to let a few things slip through. Over the months she managed to piece together what happened.

Annie was the pretty, somewhat spoiled rich girl, and Kirby was the bad boy. Somewhere along the line, their rebellious affair became something deeper. They fell in love, and they fell hard. That story might've ended with a happily ever after, except it wasn't just love that kept those two together. Addiction played a big role as well. Kirby was into heroin, and it wasn't long before he got Annie hooked as well. Pretty soon their lives resembled something like a train wreck. But then they found this place, The Vogue, and Kirby the film buff fell into a fantasy where this rundown old theater became a thriving art house. Annie stood behind him all the way, even going so far as to getting her father to help buy the place. When Matthews cut the check, however, he had a condition: they needed to get their shit together.

The shocking thing was, Kirby actually took those words to heart. Maybe he saw how bad things were and his future father-in-law's stern words were the last push he needed to straighten out his act. Whatever the reason, Kirby cleaned up. Annie, though, couldn't stop. Kirby tried everything to get her to quit, every kind of rehab program imaginable. Annie would stay clean for a little while, but once the current program was done, she went right back to shooting up. It got to the point that Kirby finally threatened to leave her. One day Annie came home and found all his things packed up in boxes, ready to move out. She called him on his cell phone, but he wouldn't answer. She left him several increasingly desperate voicemails that he didn't respond to. "I'll _die_ without you!" she sobbed in her last message.

It was all a scare tactic. Kirby hoped it would be enough to convince her to quit for good. He came home late in the evening, ready to deal with a hysterically crying girlfriend. What he found instead was a naked corpse in a bathtub full of bloody water.

Hard to say which hurt him worse, the grief or the guilt. Kirby knew Annie's death was his fault. He would always carry that blame with him. It would have been easy to fall back on the heroin, but he didn't want to make it easy on himself by numbing the pain. Sobriety was his penance. Loneliness and self-condemnation were his punishments.

Haley stared at the photo of the beautiful, smiling young woman who once had so much to look forward to and tugged on the sleeves of her rumpled plaid shirt until they almost engulfed her hands. She felt sad for what happened to Annie, but more than that, she felt angry. In ending her own suffering, Annie inflicted so much worse on those who loved her. Her father was slowly going insane with grief, and Kirby was going through the motions of day-to-day life with a crater where his heart used to be. Haley knew Annie never meant for that to happen, mainly because the girl didn't even stop to think about how her suicide would affect everyone else. That was the worst part about it, she didn't think about anyone but herself at the end.

"Selfish bitch," Haley growled at the picture, regretting the harsh words the second they left her mouth. Like she was one to talk, laying down that kind of judgment. She got up out of the office chair and stalked around the desk until the photo was out of her line of sight. "Sorry," she mumbled, wondering if it even mattered.


	3. Film Is Not Entertainment

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from _Masters of Horror_.**

After his bizarre talk with the obviously insane A.K. Meyers, Kirby knew his next stop was Paris, France. Most of his film hunts took him there. If ever there was an obscure rare film that he needed to track down or research, odds were he'd find what he needed, or at least some really good clues, at the Cinematheque in France. The Cinematheque was a museum dedicated to the artistic medium of film, and Kirby just happened to be friends with it's chief archivist.

The first thing Kirby did upon reaching Paris was find a good hotel (which he charged to his client) and crash for a long sleep. It had been a long, exhausting day. Two plane trips in twenty-four hours, plus nine hours time difference from what he was used to, really took it out of him. He lay listening to the Backovik interview tapes Meyers had given him, as he had also done on the plane, hoping to absorb some relevant facts while letting the two men's voices lull him to sleep.

_"Hollywood is shit. Film is not entertainment,"_ a disdainful Backovik declared at one point, and suddenly the insides of Kirby's eyelids were seared with a vision of a circle of flame. He flailed his arms, knocking the headphones off, and sat up on the bed, eyes wide and heart pounding. _What the fuck was that?_

Kirby's eyes darted around the hotel room. He noticed the bathroom door was open and the light had been left on, though he could've sworn he turned it off earlier. He was about to get up and switch the light off when he saw a shadow move across the bathroom's far wall. A woman's silhouette. Did the maid sneak in while he was dozing? He got up and walked to the door. The closer he got, the more ambivalent he felt. Something wasn't right. He heard the hollow sound of dripping water and smelled a metallic tang that made the hairs on his neck stand up. Kirby reached out and carefully pushed the door open further until he was able to see what was in there.

It was Annie, exactly the way he remembered her on the worst day of his life. Lying naked in a bathtub full of blood, one arm dangling over the side, wrist covered in multiple slashes with more blood oozing out of the wounds. Before Kirby could react - either stagger away or run to her - his vision was filled with that burning circle again, only this time he saw Annie's face inside it, covered in blood and screaming.

Kirby woke with a jerk. He was still in bed, the headphones still covering his ears. He pulled them off and set them aside just as the phone starting ringing on the nightstand. Kirby picked up the receiver and held it to his ear.

_"Bonjour, Monseur Sweetman,"_ a cheerful woman's accented voice chirped, _"Zis is your wake-up call."_

Kirby grunted by way of response and hung up the phone, then lay back on the pillows and rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand. "Fuck."

He couldn't remember ever having a nightmare so vivid. Not just sights and sounds, but the smells seemed so real he felt like he lived the incident all over again, rather than merely dreamed it.

A faint whirring noise drew his attention to the foot of the bed. The outdated tape player was still running, the reel spinning uselessly. Kirby sat up just enough to stretch out an arm and switch the device off. That done, he flopped onto his back once again. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:00a.m., which meant back home it was 11:00p.m. the previous night. Haley was probably still up.

Kirby picked up the phone receiver once again and placed a long-distance call, glad that he wouldn't be paying for the charges.

Haley picked up on the third ring. _"This better not be a sales call."_

"Hey, Timpson."

_"Kirby! You meet up with whatshisname the critic okay?"_

"Meyers. And yeah, I found him. The guy was totally out of his gourd." He told her about the obsessive recluse who lived in a rundown house filled with piles of typed sheets, every one a page of a review he'd been working on for the last thirty years.

_"Holy shit. What was he writing about?"_

"Take a guess."

_"La Fin Absolue Du Monde? Seriously?"_

"Seriously. Soon as I told him I was looking for the film, he gave me all the material he had on it with the understanding that I'd give him a private screening when I found it."

_"Damn. So, where are you now?"_

"Paris."

_"Ah! Ze Cinematheque,"_ Haley declared in a sloppy French accent, _"Tell Henri I said hey."_

"I will," Kirby muttered.

There was a pause while Haley processed his tone. _"You okay?"_

"Yeah. I just," he rubbed his eyes with his free hand, "had a weird dream."

_"Oh."_ She didn't ask him what the dream was about, for which he was grateful.

"I'll call you again later. Let you know how it goes."

_"Sure. I'll try to keep the place standing 'til you get back."_

Kirby smirked at her weak humor. "Bye, Timpson."

_"Bye."_

* * *

Back in the States, Haley set down her phone and chewed her lower lip in worry. Kirby was holding something back, she heard it in his voice. But then, she wasn't totally forthcoming with him, either. She hadn't mentioned the fact that Matthews seemed to be camping out in his car in front of the Vogue. Sometimes he even got out of his car and stood across the street staring at the theater's doors with those crazy eyes. Once in a while his hand strayed to his side and Haley noticed a bulge under his coat. She really _really_ hoped it wasn't what she suspected it was.

Haley was getting scared, but she didn't want to burden Kirby with this. He was having a rough time already, with the constant travel and his personal demons wearing him down. Haley decided she'd try to deal with this on her own. If Matthews kept up the creepy stalker act, she'd sic the cops on his ass. It might not do much good, but at least it'd hopefully get him to back off for a while. Just until Kirby got back with that big fat paycheck.

The next day was business as usual. The Vogue screened the original _Phantasm_ and they managed to sell just over sixty tickets, mostly to men. Haley had no doubts many of those guys showed up just so they could watch the scenes where the blonde chick flashed her tits before stabbing her victims with a huge knife.

Haley's favorite character was the Tall Man. She wasn't sure why, but every time he bellowed "Boy!" at the hero, she had to giggle.

When she locked up that night, there was no sign of Matthews. Haley drove home to her loft, microwaved herself some leftover Thai food, and spent the next couple of hours watching _Pumpkinhead_ and waiting for the phone to ring. It was well past midnight by the time she decided to pack it in. Kirby obviously wasn't going to call tonight. She tried not to worry about it. He probably got so caught up in his research he lost track of time and didn't want to call her so late.

Haley turned off the TV, threw away the empty takeout boxes, and went to brush her teeth. She changed into an oversized T-shirt to sleep in and crawled into bed. It wasn't long before she drifted off.

She dreamed about Kirby. Not a first for her, but this time it wasn't a pleasant fantasy. It was horrible.

Kirby was in one of those cruddy abandoned warehouses baddies in the movies always gravitated to. He had a machete in his hand and was using it on three big guys. It was like a slasher movie, only everything about it felt too real. The sounds of the blade impacting flesh, the screams of the dying men, the stink of blood and loosed bowels. But the worst part was the look on Kirby's face. It was totally blank, as if he was sleepwalking.

Haley woke with a loud gasp, her legs tangled in the bedsheets. She kicked herself free and wiped her hands across her sweaty face. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

She couldn't remember the last time she had a nightmare, and certainly not one so real. She wished all of a sudden she had the number for wherever Kirby was at that moment so she could call him. She didn't normally believe in things like omens or precognition, but right now she really needed to know her friend was alright.

"Calm down. Calm down," she muttered, forcing herself to lie back and more or less relax. Kirby was fine, she told herself. He was just looking for a movie, not working a drug deal. The worst that could happen was him getting eyestrain from all the research he was doing. He'd be back in a few days, hopefully with the film, and everything would be fine and dandy.

For the rest of the night her sleep was fitful at best. But at least she didn't have anymore dreams.

* * *

Kirby ran from the building, leaving a dying Dalibor behind with the bodies of his henchmen and the beheaded cabbie. He jumped into the dead taxi driver's cab, tossing the envelope with Katja Backovik's address into the passenger seat, and sped away from the abandoned building-turned-snuff film studio. Once he reached Paris he ditched the vehicle in an alley and ran/walked the rest of the way to his hotel. It was something of a miracle that nobody stopped him or called the cops, what with his jittery behavior and the blood staining the collar of his white shirt. But he made it back without incident, and as soon as he was in his hotel room he hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and used every available lock to be extra safe. He then grabbed the phone and made hasty arrangements to fly to Vancouver. He had a couple of hours until his flight, so he took a shower and changed into some clean clothes.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Kirby stared down at the rumpled pile of blood-stained clothes. He didn't dare toss them in the trash, so he reluctantly gathered them up and jammed them into his hastily packed suitcase. He'd dispose of them once he was in Canada.

He checked his watch. It'd be about 6:00a.m. back home. Haley was no doubt still in bed. Kirby picked up the phone and dialed her number anyway. He needed the sound of her voice to reassure him that the world hadn't gone completely batshit.

The phone rang and rang. Kirby was about to give up when the other end picked up and Haley's groggy voice slurred, _"H'lo?"_

"Hey, Timpson." Kirby seated himself on the edge of the bed. "Sorry I woke you."

_"No, man, it's fine."_ Haley grunted and there was the rustle of bedclothes. Kirby pictured her struggling to sit up in bed, all bleary-eyed and rumpled. He bet she looked cute that way. _"How'd the research go?"_

"Great. I, uh, think I know where a copy of the film might be."

_"Really? Where?"_

"With Backovik's widow, in Vancouver."

_"'O Canada', huh? Hey, could ya get me one of those T-shirts with the maple leaf on it?"_

Kirby tried to chuckle. "Sure."

_"You okay? You sound kinda stressed."_

What the hell was he supposed to say? _Oh, nothing much. I watched a woman get her head chopped off in front of me and I hacked three men to death with a machete, only I blacked out at that part so I don't know for sure. Oh, and I'm hallucinating these huge cigarette burns with images of my dead girlfriend in them._ Yeah, that'd go over real well.

"It's nothing," he answered instead, "Just jet lag." He started to rub his tired eyes and discovered his hand was shaking like an old man's with palsy. He clenched his hand into a fist. "Listen, my flight leaves soon. I gotta go."

_"Okay."_ There was no mistaking the disappointment in her tone. _"You gonna be back soon?"_

"Yeah, maybe the day after tomorrow, if all goes well."

_"Well, crash and burn, dude."_

Kirby blinked. "What?"

_"You don't say good luck to somebody who's gonna fly. You tell 'em to crash and burn."_

"Where the hell did you get that?"

_"I dunno. _Top Gun_, maybe?"_

Despite his shaky state of mind, Kirby managed a weak laugh at that. Haley always seemed to know when he needed a shot of humor to steady him. "I'll be home soon, Timpson. See ya then."

_"See ya, Kirby."_

Kirby hung up the phone. His hands still had a slight tremor, but it was getting better. He picked up his suitcase and left the hotel. Just a couple more days and this whole insane job would be behind him.


	4. Stepping In Quicksand

**Disclaimer: Not mine. No kidding.**

By the time he got off the plane at Vancouver, Kirby felt more or less in control again. That is, until he arrived at the highrise where Katja Backovik lived. He called her on the intercom, told her why he was there, and much to his surprise, she invited him up. Kirby stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the penthouse. The doors closed and he felt the slight lurch in his stomach that signaled the elevator was moving.

Kirby chewed his thumbnail, a nervous habit that used to drive Annie crazy. No sooner did he think that, than the elevator car suddenly jerked to a halt and the lights flickered. Alarmed, Kirby started to reach for the emergency button when he sensed a presence behind him. He turned and found himself facing the ghost of Annie. She was wearing a white dress, her skin was pale, and her hair was damp. She smiled at him in a loving way that broke his heart and asked, "Are you my sweet man, Kirby?"

He reached out to her, half expecting his hand to just pass right through her, but he touched her cold face and she leaned into the caress. This illusion of life hurt even worse than the image of her death. Kirby's throat tightened in sorrow. "You're not real."

The elevator doors opened. Annie was gone. Kirby lowered his arm and stepped out of the elevator.

Katja was waiting for him in the parlor. Her stance was dignified, but her smile was warm. Kirby liked her on sight. They sat down, she in a chair, he on the sofa, and talked. As they discussed her husband and the film, Kirby felt a growing kinship with this woman. She had also lost someone she loved, and the pain of it showed through in flickers of her expression. She took him to the room that had been Hans Backovik's editing studio and Kirby saw the way everything was kept pristine, not a speck of dust to be found. A shrine to her late husband.

She talked about Backovik's obsession with _La Fin Absolue Du Monde_, and his guilt.

"All he did was watch it," she said, staring at the chair the man once occupied, "Like a punishment."

Kirby could almost see him, staring wide-eyed at the editing screen, losing himself in his creation. Losing his mind.

"He stopped by the kitchen on the way to find me," Katja continued in a haunted voice, "In the bedroom...he meant to kill us both. But when he cut my throat," she pulled aside the decorative scarf she wore, revealing a jagged scar, "he only disfigured me. When he cut his own throat, he died." Her smile was full of anguish, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "I'm not sure I got the better deal. I was left to take care of _La Fin Absolue Du Monde_. I hate that film," she rasped, "And I understand its power. I wish it had never been made."

She looked at Kirby then, almost pleading. "Do you understand what that's like, Kirby? Wanting to do penance for something, but knowing it's too late." The last word came out as a sob.

Kirby thought about Annie, finding her in the bathtub. He remembered how he'd cried over her, begging her to come back, sobbing while he told her he was sorry, so sorry... "Yeah," he said quietly, "I do."

A friendship might have formed then, one based on mutual loss and regret, but then he said something that brought it all to a crashing end before it could truly begin.

"Mrs. Backovik-"

"Please," she smiled, "Katja."

"Katja... Can I watch the film?" He hadn't meant to say that. He meant to say "take the film," but those other words just slipped out and he knew it was too late to take them back. Katja looked at him as if he'd punched her, and all the warmth seeped out of her eyes. She showed him where the reels were kept, just sitting on a shelf in their cases, plain as day. She wouldn't touch them.

"I hate even having it in the house," she said bitterly, turning away.

Kirby walked over to the shelf, amazed at how anti-climactic the end to his search was. He didn't take the reels right away, though. He needed to get something off his chest first. He told her about the cigarette burns, the visions. Katja gazed at him intently, but didn't seem surprised. She knew about the cigarette burns. As he told her more about them, her expression turned to one of resignation.

"You were marked," she told him, "That's how pollute _La Fin Absolue Du Monde_ is. It doesn't just affect you when you're watching it. As soon as you start getting close to it, it rubs off on you. Like you're stepping in quicksand."

She stared at him as one would a man who announced he'd been diagnosed with cancer, knowing that he would soon be gone. "So go ahead, take the film. It's already too late."

For a second, just a brief instant, Kirby was tempted to leave the film where it was and walk away. But then he thought about Matthews, the debt hanging over his head. And he thought about the film itself. He'd told Katja that he wanted to see something extraordinary. He couldn't walk away from the chance to screen such a legend in his own theater. So he took down the reels from the shelf and left. Neither he nor Katja said another word to each other. There was nothing left to say.

* * *

Matthews made his move after the last showing. He waited until the last customers left the theater, along with the box office girl and the concession stand kid. Then he pulled up in front of the theater, popped the trunk of his car, and brought out several lengths of chain from inside. Haley was about to lock up for the night when she saw him chaining the front doors shut. She dashed outside, shouting, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm calling in the debt," the older man snapped, "Your boss hasn't gotten my money, so I'm closing this shitty operation down."

"It hasn't been two weeks yet!" Haley cried, "Kirby's gonna be back in just a few hours. He'll have your money then."

Matthews ignored her. He looped another chain around the second set of doors, locking her out completely. Haley's normal wariness of the man was pushed aside by her growing indignation at his treatment of what she considered her second home. She grabbed his arm. "You can't _do_ this-"

The older man shoved her away with such violence that she landed hard on her ass and her teeth clacked together. If her tongue had been caught between them, she probably would've bitten the tip off. Matthews whirled to glare at her and his coat flared open for a second, long enough for Haley to glimpse the gun tucked into his belt. A stab of fear went through her. She didn't dare move from where she was sprawled.

Satisfied that she would no longer interfere, Matthews returned to his task. As soon as the doors were secured, he returned to his car without sparing Haley so much as a glance and drove off.

Haley carefully got to her feet and rubbed her sore tailbone. She went to the doors and tugged on them, hoping there might be just enough slack in the chains for her to squeeze through. No such luck. Her phone was still inside, along with her car keys.

"Fuck!" she growled. At least she had her wallet. She could ride the bus home and call Kirby from there, but she was reluctant to do that. She didn't like the idea of him coming back and finding his theater locked up like this, with nobody here to give him an explanation. She checked her watch. If Kirby's flight wasn't delayed, he should probably be home in a couple of hours. Haley decided to wait for him. It might not be the smartest move, given the nature of this neighborhood, but she didn't feel right about abandoning the theater. She needed to show her solidarity, to the Vogue and to Kirby. It was all she could do for them.

* * *

Kirby felt anxious as he watched Bellinger carry the reels away, and at the same time he felt relief. The film was someone else's burden now. And with the two hundred grand check tucked into his pocket, his problems with Matthews would soon be over.

He got into his car and left the mansion far behind him. Even though it was late, he decided to go to the Vogue first. He felt homesick. Along the way he stopped at a liquor store and picked up a bottle of whiskey. He took a few swigs while he drove, in defiance of the law and common sense. After everything he'd been through, Kirby needed something to steady his nerves. If it hadn't been so late, he would've called Haley. Talking to her always seemed to lessen his problems. But he couldn't interrupt her sleep two days in a row. He'd just have to wait until he saw her at work.

The first thing Kirby noticed when he pulled up in front of the theater was Haley crouched down with her back against the wall and her head resting on her knees. She raised her head when she heard the car. The second thing Kirby noticed was the chains on the theater's doors. A surge of anger went through him. He jumped out of the car and stormed over to the doors. He gave them a savage yank, making the chains jingle. "Fuck!" he swore, unwittingly echoing Haley's earlier actions.

Haley stood and approached him with some trepidation. "Matthews ambushed me," she told him, "He showed up outta the blue while I was locking up and put the chains on. I tried to tell him you'd bring him the money, but..." She shrugged helplessly.

Kirby ran a hand through his messy hair in frustration. "Why the hell didn't you call me?"

Haley pointed at the theater. "My phone's in there. So's my car keys."

Kirby sighed. "Alright, I'll give you a ride, then I'll stop by Matthews's place and pay him. We'll be back in business by tomorrow." He beckoned to her. "C'mon."

Haley tugged her sleeves down and started to follow. "Are you pissed?"

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' pissed!"

She hesitated, then asked in a small voice, "You pissed at me?" She had failed to stop Matthews, after all.

Kirby softened. "No, I'm not pissed at you." He reached over and rubbed her arm in a comforting gesture. Haley felt a blush coming on and hurried past him to the passenger door of his car. Before she entered the car, Kirby's phone rang. He dug the cellphone out of his pocket and frowned at the caller ID on the screen. He flipped the phone open. "Hello? _Bellinger?_" his voice rose slightly in surprise.

Haley threw him a questioning look. Who the hell was Bellinger?

"Wait wait wait," Kirby stammered, "What happened?" A silence while whoever it was on the other end talked. "A-Alright, I'm coming right now." He shut the phone. "That was the client," he explained to Haley, "He said it's urgent, that he needs my help."

"What the hell could he need from you that can't wait 'til morning?" Haley asked.

"I dunno." Kirby looked troubled. "Guess I'll find out when I get there."

"What about Matthews?"

"He can wait a while longer." Something about his tone...it was almost like he was in a trance. Haley felt her mouth go dry.

"I'm coming too," she decided.

Kirby blinked. "You sure you don't wanna go home?"

"My place is nowhere near that rich guy's house," she reasoned, "Taking me along 'll save you time."

Kirby smiled at her, grateful for some reason that he wouldn't be going there alone. "Okay, hop in."

They got into his car and drove off, both unaware that Matthews had been watching from his own vehicle the whole time. He pulled away from the curb and followed Kirby's car towards Bellinger's mansion.


	5. It's Not A Movie, However

**Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to _Masters of Horror_ or "Cigarette Burns".**

The massive gate leading to the estate's grounds was wide open. Even Haley, who'd only ever seen places like this on TV, knew this was not normal. Yet Kirby didn't even pause as he steered the car down the long driveway and pulled up in front of the imposing mansion. Haley was shocked when he abruptly killed the engine and leaped out of the car, leaving his keys still dangling from the ignition.

"Wait up!" Haley shouted while fumbling with her seat belt. Either he didn't hear her or he ignored her, because Kirby didn't slow down. Haley finally freed herself and rushed out after him. Despite her much shorter legs, she managed to catch up to him just when he reached the main door. It, too, was left mysteriously open. Haley grabbed Kirby's arm. "Dude, what if it's a break-in? Shouldn't we call the cops or something?"

"Can't wait," Kirby muttered and pulled himself free, not violently, but more like he'd snagged his coat on a tree branch. His face was weirdly distracted-looking. Haley's stomach churned, but she followed him.

To his companion's growing dismay, Kirby didn't enter the mansion with any kind of caution. He ran through the foyer and down the vacant halls, calling Bellinger's name. Suddenly, he almost ran smack into the butler and skidded to a halt. Haley let out a sharp yelp and grabbed onto his arm again, her eyes bugging at the sight before them.

No longer the elegantly stoic man Kirby remembered from his previous visits, Bellinger's butler stood before the shocked pair in a fighter's crouch, shirtless and clutching what looked like a ceremonial Asian dagger. A delicate tassel hung from its pommel, and its blade was smeared with blood. His blood, apparently, since every inch of the man's exposed torso was covered in deep crisscrossing slashes.

Kirby swallowed nervously and blurted the first thing that popped into his head, "Mister Bellinger called me."

Haley threw him an incredulous look. Did he seriously think the guy cared whether they had a freakin' appointment?

The butler glared in accusation. "You brought the film to this house."

Kirby raised both hands in a placating gesture. "Look, I don't want any trouble, alright?"

"But you brought trouble to this house, didn't you!"

"Oh shit..." Haley whimpered, totally unaware as she did so.

"And now you're back," the bloodied man grinned, "Well..." His expression brightened then, like a wonderful idea just occurred to him. "I know what you want! You want to see the movie!"

"No I don't," Kirby answered without hesitation. And at that moment, he _really_ meant it.

"Yes you do," the butler insisted coyly. If it weren't for the blood and the insanity radiating from the man's eyes, Haley might have laughed at the whole surreal situation.

"I hope you get what you want," the butler said, "What you deserve!" Without warning, he plunged the dagger into his right eye. Haley's scream mingled with his. Kirby grabbed her and the pair darted past the butler who had fallen to his knees. A morbid impulse forced Haley to peer over her shoulder just as the mutilated man drew out the blade from his mangled eye socket and and drove it into his left eye. Then she and Kirby turned a corner and the man was lost from sight. But they could still hear him, and that was worse, for despite the agony he must have been in, the butler wasn't screaming anymore. He was laughing.

They stumbled through a set of doors and into Bellinger's private screening room. A movie was running, its end credits scrolling up the screen. It was such a mundane image the two of them stared at it in confusion for a moment.

"Is that _La Fin Absolue Du Monde_?" Haley whispered. The credits were in French, she noticed.

Kirby gave an uncertain shake of his head, then let his gaze wander through the small theater. He nudged her and pointed towards the projection booth. Haley looked where he pointed and saw through the small window what looked like a hunched figure.

"I think that's Bellinger," Kirby said and started towards the booth.

Haley tightened her grip on his arm and pulled him to a stop. "W-Wait!"

"He could be hurt."

"_We_ could get hurt! Just 'cause I like watching slasher films doesn't mean I wanna fucking _be_ in one," she declared, "Let's just call the cops, Kirby. Please!"

Kirby chewed the inside of his lip. "Look, if you don't wanna come, just wait here while I go check on him."

Haley shook her head emphatically. "No way am I gonna be by myself anywhere in this crazy house."

"Then come with me," Kirby snapped, yanking his arm free as he marched towards the projectionist booth. Haley hesitated only a second before she followed him. The churning in her stomach became a roil.

The only light in the booth came from the projector that was still running. All that really did was make the shadows that much more pronounced. Kirby and Haley found Bellinger standing behind the second projector. Only his head and shoulders were visible. His pale face was covered in sweat and he was grimacing and making sounds that were not at all reassuring. As soon as he noticed the two newcomers his hand came into view and rested on top of the silent projector. He was holding a straight razor. Blood smeared it and the backs of his fingers. Haley swallowed bile. Kirby tensed.

"Bellinger?"

The older man flashed a sickly grin. "You missed the good part."

"What's going on?" Kirby asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Bellinger glanced at the razor in his hand with mild bemusement, as if he had no idea where it came from. He set it down on the projector. "Nothing," he said with an air of distraction, "Everything is alright."

No surprise, Kirby wasn't all that convinced. "You sure? Maybe I should call a doctor."

A faraway look came to Bellinger's eerie pale eyes. "I have done terrible things in my life. You don't make as much money as I have...without burying a few bodies," his breath wheezed, "You only can sleep at night...if they stay buried. But they never do."

Haley couldn't help herself. She asked him, "You watched _La Fin Absolue Du Monde_?" Could that really be what drove the butler to cut himself up and made this multi-millionaire do whatever the hell he did to himself? A few minutes ago Haley wouldn't have even considered such a crazy legend about the lost film might actually be true. But now...

Bellinger lunged forward in his enthusiasm, throwing his eyes into the weak light and startling the two younger people. "Yeah!" he hissed, "I highly recommend it." He frowned a bit in thought. "It's not a movie, however. It's a preview. It's...the coming attractions of the soul," he grinned. "But it has," he chuckled weakly, "a hell of an ending."

Kirby ventured to change the subject, "You said on the phone you needed help."

The older man nodded. "I was going to ask you to find another movie for me. After all, you did a good job with this one." He shrugged, only it was more like a wince. "I don't need it anymore. I have been inspired," his expression glowed, "I made my own movie!" His hands slid off the top of the projector and out of view. His eyes closed and his face contorted. There was a horrible squishing noise, then Bellinger's hands reappeared clutching something long and fleshy like a string of sausage.

Kirby's eyes widened as his mind struggled to process what he saw. He was dimly aware of Haley whimpering beside him.

Bellinger fed the fleshy object into the projector as he would a reel of film. He had to shift his position to do it and when he did Kirby and Haley saw the wide gash across his belly from where the sausage-string emerged.

"Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus!" Haley's words were muffled behind the hand she clamped over her mouth. Her other hand squeezed Kirby's forearm hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises later.

Bellinger switched on the projector and frantically began to feed more of his intestines into the machine, even as he writhed and choked in the process.

Horrified and nauseated at the same time, Kirby covered his mouth with both hands to stifle his rising gorge. His ears were filled with the sounds of Bellinger's dying sounds and Haley's frantic screams. He turned when Haley pulled at his arm and the two of them ran from the projection booth.

Out in the theater, Haley stumbled to a halt as she gaped at what was up on the screen. The end credits were replaced with a continuing stream of gory abstract art. Pinks and reds and bilious yellows streaking across the screen. It was so ridiculous and so awful at the same time. _His guts are almost pretty_, she thought just before she doubled over and vomited onto the nearest seat.

Kirby hurried over and touched her shoulder in concern. "Timpson, hey. You alright?"

"Oh god," she coughed, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "What's happening?" She whirled and confronted Kirby with tears pouring from her eyes. "What the fuck is happening, Kirby!"

"We gotta get the hell outta here, okay?" Kirby said, "We'll call the cops as soon as we're outside."

Haley didn't hide her relief at him finally suggesting something rational. They started for the exit when the sudden arrival of Matthews blocked their escape. He'd followed them here all the way from the Vogue. He'd seen the blood out in the hall and heard the distant howls of the butler. Now he took in the bizarre carnage splashed across the movie screen and Haley's and Kirby's terrified expressions.

Kirby exclaimed, "Jesus, Walter, what're you doing?" It was the first time since Annie's death that he called Matthews by his first name. Neither man really noticed.

Matthews looked trashed. His tailored suit was rumpled, his skin was sagging with fatigue, and he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. The look in his bloodshot eyes was both exhausted and frenzied. It would have been easy to feel sorry for him were it not for the fact that he was brandishing the gun he'd been toting in his belt. "What's going on here?" he stammered, "What filthy fucking thing are you- What _is this?_" He gestured at the screen with his free hand.

Kirby tried to reason with him, "Look, you don't wanna be here now."

Matthews's grin made his shaky hold on sanity all the more obvious. "You're right. Lately, I've been spending a lot of time doing things I never would have expected. Like sitting out side your theater for days at a time with a loaded gun. Or letting my business go to hell while I figure out ways to ruin your life." The words spilled out of him as more cracks began to show. The more the talked, the faster they came.

Kirby's eyes darted from Matthews's manic face to the gun and back. The strange compulsion that had made him run blithely into the mansion had cleared away, leaving him all too aware of the danger he was in. Worse, the danger he'd put Haley into. She hadn't even wanted to come here, but he dragged her along all the same. If she was killed now, Kirby knew without a doubt the blame rested on him. Even more than the blame for Annie's suicide.

Fortunately, Matthews seemed entirely focused on him. While the older man ranted, Kirby slowly, subtly stretched his arm out and maneuvered Haley to stand behind him, blocking her from Matthews's aim. He felt her hands clutching at the back of his coat and her stuttering breaths on the back of his neck. He imagined the look of wide-eyed terror on her face and wished he could tell her how sorry he was for getting her into this shit.

"I didn't wanna throw my life away!" Matthews continued. Then his expression turned sly, kicking Kirby's dread up a notch. "But now...if you get shot here, what's it matter? Who's gonna notice?" Now his gaze included Haley in his fevered awareness. "Just two more freaks on a stack of bodies tomorrow."

No. He couldn't let this crazy bastard kill Haley. And he didn't want to die either, Kirby realized with a jolt. Before he had a chance to second guess his actions, Kirby grabbed Matthews by the wrist and forced it up until the gun pointed towards the ceiling. Matthews immediately started fighting for control of the weapon and a deadly tug of war ensued.

Suddenly, there a flash at the movie screen drew Kirby's gaze. In towering white letters on a black field, the words LA FIN ABSOLUE DU MONDE blazed. A flickering cigarette burn superimposed itself over the title. Kirby's eyes widened. He heard Haley shout his name, heard a gunshot just as another, brighter cigarette burn flooded his vision, then darkness.

* * *

**A/N:** Dun, dun, dunnn... Cliffhanger. Stay tuned! -)


	6. La Fin Absolue Du Monde

**Disclaimer: _Masters of Horror_ and its episode "Cigarette Burns" belongs to people far more famous and talented than me. This story is simply for my own amusement.**

Kirby found himself sprawled in a chair with his head tilted back, gazing up at a darkened ceiling. There was a dim flickering light and strange noises. He straightened and saw he was in one of the front row seats of Bellinger's private theater. _La Fin Absolue Du Monde_ was playing out on the screen. At least, he thought it was. Many of the images he saw made no sense, just random views of gruesome and disturbing acts. A naked woman clawed at a stone wall until her nails tore away. Another young woman struggled with the barbed wire coiled around her head while blood flowed out of dozens of small wounds. A man screamed up at a blood-red sky, one of the few instances of color in the mostly gray-scale film. Then Kirby saw the Willowy Being, that skinny pale wretch Bellinger kept chained up on a revolving platform as a "souvenir" from the film. The creature was younger and healthier looking then, and he still had the wings which now hung on Bellinger's wall. Kirby now saw how the creature lost them. He saw a man with a huge rusty knife sawing away at them while the Willowy Being cried out in helpless pain.

A cough shook Kirby's body and he tasted something thick and metallic. He wiped his mouth, then saw his fingers were coated in blood. Both hands and the front of his shirt. Where did all this blood come from?

It was then that he realized not all the screaming was coming from the movie. He turned his head away from the screen and blinked in confusion at the scene before him. Haley and Matthews were fighting. Both were struggling for control of the gun, and from the looks of things Haley had bitten Matthews's hands more than once, but the crazy bastard just wouldn't let go. Matthews suddenly drew back his fist and smashed it into Haley's face. Haley staggered back, banged her hip off a nearby armrest, and toppled to the floor. Matthews stood over her with the gun. His bloodshot eyes were wide, his teeth bared in a hateful grimace. It was obvious that whatever sanity he had left was now gone. He pointed the gun at the young woman's head. Haley raised a trembling hand in a pitiful attempt to shield herself from the inevitable.

"P-Please..." she whimpered, blood trickling from her mouth.

And for Kirby the realization finally sank in that she was going to die.

_"No!"_ He jumped to his feet and ran at the startled man. Caught off guard, Matthews tried to swing his aim around when Kirby tackled him to the floor.

From where she lay a few feet away, Haley watched wide-eyed as Kirby straddled the older man, grabbed the sides of his head with both hands, and started slamming Matthews's head against the floor. Over and over, as hard as he could, his face twisted with years of pent up rage against the man and his endless threats and his blame for Annie's death. He slammed Matthews's head down until there was a sound like a giant egg cracking open and then the thumps against the floor became horrible squelching noises.

"Kirby," Haley choked.

Whether he heard her or not, he stopped. She watched him sit back on his heels, reach into his inner jacket pocket, and pull something out. "Here's your fucking money," he snarled, crumpling the check and stuffing it into Matthews's mouth. Kirby then rose shakily to his feet, saw the gun and picked it up, then staggered over to the nearest theater seat and lowered himself into it.

Haley blinked at him, still lying on the floor where Matthews knocked her down. It was like Kirby forgot she was even there. He was staring at the screen with a look on his face that was almost...peaceful. A sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I love you," he whispered, while tears fell from his eyes, "I'm sorry."

Haley got up on her hands and knees and crawled over to him. She touched the hand that loosely held the gun. "Kirby?"

He blinked like he was waking from a daydream and finally looked at her. "Timpson?"

Haley gently took the gun from him and set it on the floor out of his reach. She cradled his face in both hands to make sure he stayed focused on her. "We gotta call you an ambulance, okay? I need your phone."

Kirby frowned, puzzled. "Ambulance?"

"Kirby, you were shot."

He looked down at himself, at all the blood. There was a hole in his shirt and a dull throb in his abdomen. A throb that was rapidly becoming more intense. Kirby hunched over and bit back a groan.

"Where's your cellphone?" Haley searched through his pockets until she found his cell. She flipped it open and dialed 911, then held the phone to her ear with her shoulder while she stripped off her outer shirt, leaving herself wearing only a short-sleeved T-shirt.. While she frantically blurted the address to the operator, she pressed her wadded shirt over Kirby's wound in an effort to stanch the bloodflow. Behind her, unnoticed, the movie screen went blank as the reel ended.

Movement from the corner of his eye made Kirby turn his head. He stared as a pale, slender figure slowly floated down the aisle towards them. Haley's jaw went slack and the cellphone slipped from her ear to clatter to the floor.

The Willowy Being paused before the stunned pair. His wrists and ankles were heavily bruised from the shackles he freed himself from and his eerie face was serene. Balanced in his hands like a couple of pizzas were two film reels. Neither of them had to guess which film it was.

"Thank you," the creature said to Kirby, indicating the reels with an elegant nod, "For this." The Willowy Being continued walking, vanishing through the screening room's exit without another word.

* * *

Haley was the only one the police were able to question at the scene, since she was the only living, uninjured, sane person left. Bellinger was dead, Matthews was dead, Kirby was being loaded into the ambulance, and the butler was missing (he was found hours later sitting in the middle of the highway and was carted of to the psych wing of the hospital, where he spent the rest of his life). Haley wasn't able to tell the cops much about what happened, other that everyone went completely batshit crazy. She did emphasize that Kirby killed Matthews while saving her life, however, and the police seemed willing to believe her. Especially after they learned of Matthews's increasingly erratic behavior over the last few months and his obsessive stalking of Kirby.

Once the questioning was finally done and Haley's minor wounds were treated, one of the cops gave her a ride home. She took the longest shower of her life, tossed the clothes she'd worn into the trash (she would have burned them if she could), then flopped into bed and promptly passed out. She was too exhausted to even dream that night, a minor blessing.

The next morning Haley dug out her spare car keys and had a friend give her a lift to the Vogue where her car was still parked. The theater's doors were still chained up from the night before. Haley made a mental note to get some bolt cutters later.

She drove down to the bank Kirby used both for his personal accounts and the business. The tellers were shocked by the huge bruise Matthews had left on her face, but recovered quickly. they greeted Haley by name, since she was usually the one who made all the deposits, such as they were. Today, though, she had something much bigger than the meager earnings from the Vogue.

Last night, just before the cops arrived, Haley snatched the check Kirby had stuffed into Matthews's mouth and put it in her pocket. It was already endorsed with Kirby's signature on the back, probably in anticipation of paying off the debt he owed Matthews. Now Haley was going to deposit it into the Vogue's account. They fucking _earned_ that money after everything they'd been through. Hopefully, the authorities hadn't frozen Bellinger's assets yet.

They hadn't. The transfer went through without a hitch. Haley took the receipt from the smiling clerk and left the bank as quickly as possible without drawing attention.

Her next stop was the hospital. Even though she wasn't family, the doctor who'd treated Kirby told her everything. A couple of months ago, Kirby got the idea that since neither of them had any family, it might be a good idea to sign some papers giving them the right to make medical decisions for each other. Haley was never more grateful that she'd agreed to this than she was now. The doctor - a reassuringly calm Indian guy with an unpronounceable name - assured Haley that Kirby's gunshot wound wasn't life-threatening. He'd needed some surgery and a blood transfusion, but was now in stable condition and would probably be sent home in a few days.

"Can I see him?" Haley asked.

The doctor nodded. "He may not be very talkative due to the pain medication we put him on," he warned.

"That's okay. I just wanna see for myself that he's alright."

A nurse escorted her to Kirby's room, then left them in privacy. In spite of the doctor's earlier reassurances, Haley was alarmed at how her friend looked. Kirby's face was pale and drawn, and there was all kinds of monitoring equipment with wires and tubes running into him. Haley slowly crept into the room and stood beside the bed. Kirby appeared to be sleeping. His eyelids didn't even twitch when she touched his hand.

"Hey," she whispered.

Kirby's head lolled and he breathed in. His eyelids slowly drew back from his pale eyes. "Timpson," he murmured.

Haley smiled in relief. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got shot in the gut. Oh wait," he smiled weakly, "I did."

Haley snorted at his attempt at humor. "Is it okay if I'm here? I mean, if you wanna sleep some more-"

"It's fine." Kirby shifted to a more comfortable position. "Pull up a chair."

Haley found an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair against the wall. She dragged over to the bedside and sat down. She rested her hands on her lap, absently tugging down the sleeves of her baggy shirt.

"How's the Vogue?" Kirby asked.

"Still chained up. But don't worry, I'll take care of it."

"As shitty as business has been, it might be better if you left it chained up," he muttered.

Haley smirked. "I don't think you'll have to worry about finances for a while." At Kirby's puzzled look, she explained about retrieving Bellinger's check. "So, unless the cops decide to confiscate it, you're now two hundred grand richer."

Kirby smiled weakly. "How could you even keep a level head with everything going down like it did?"

Her expression became somber. "What the hell _did_ happen, Kirby? I keep trying to wrap my head around it, and it all starts unraveling. How could a movie drive everybody so crazy? And what the hell was that albino guy?"

Kirby lifted his head slightly. "You didn't tell the cops about him, did you?"

"Fuck no! They'd think I was crazy."

"He took the film." Kirby gazed up at the ceiling in thought. "Maybe he'll destroy it, or hide it somewhere."

"I don't care what he does with it," Haley said, "Long as nobody ever finds it again."

Kirby looked at her in concern. "Did you watch the film while it was playing?"

She shook her head.

Kirby sighed in relief, "Good."

"You watched it," Haley's voice was worried, "What'd it do to you?"

Kirby chewed the inside of his lip for a moment. "It digs out all your sins and makes you face them."

Haley thought about Bellinger disemboweling himself, the butler gouging out his own eyes, Kirby whispering that he was sorry while holding the gun he took from Matthews. What would he have done if she hadn't taken it away?

She took hold of his hand, gave it a squeeze. Kirby stared at their joined hands for a moment, then reached over with his other hand and started to peel back Haley's sleeve. Haley tensed, but didn't stop him. She chewed her bottom lip as more of her wrist was exposed.

"I saw this," Kirby murmured, "when you took your shirt off to stop my bleeding." He traced a finger along the scar that ran down the inside of her wrist. "Lengthwise," he observed quietly, "You meant business."

"I did," Haley admitted, "At the time, anyway. I did it in the morning after my mom left for work. She shouldn't have found me 'til it was way too late. Only she got a flat less than two blocks from home and came back to call her boss and tell him she was gonna be late. She saw my backpack by the door and knew I didn't go to school. Didn't take her long to find me."

Kirby's grip on her hand tightened. "Why'd you do it?"

Haley shook her head, shrugged. "No one reason. I just...wasn't happy. I was never happy, not since I was a little kid. The shrinks called it clinical depression. I didn't let it show, though. I didn't wanna upset my mom."

"And fuckin' killing yourself wasn't gonna upset her?"

Haley winced at the pain in Kirby's voice. "I was tired of hiding it by then. I'm better now. Mom was a rock. She got me through all the therapy and the meds. I still see a shrink once a week, and I tell myself every day that I'm lucky to be alive. Even after Mom died from cancer, I kept telling myself that, 'cause I know she wouldn't want me giving up." She looked down at the scar on her wrist. "I'm glad I have these scars. They remind me how far I've come."

"Then why hide them?"

"People freak out when they see 'em. I don't hide them from my friends," she explained, "I would've shown them to you, but..."

Kirby's face relaxed in understanding. "Annie."

Haley nodded. "I heard about how she died and...I thought it'd be too painful for you, seeing these scars."

Kirby looked at her wrist, then slowly pulled her sleeve back down. "Thanks for telling me."

She hesitated. "You okay?"

Kirby snorted. "No. But I'll work on it," he added. He looked at her. "I'm sorry I almost got you killed."

"It's not like we were handcuffed together," Haley argued, "I could've stayed out in the car, but I decided to follow you instead. It was my choice. Plus, you saved my life. So quit beating yourself up about it."

"About saving your life?" Kirby's mouth twitched.

Haley laughed and lightly punched his shoulder. "Smartass."

The nurse who'd showed her to the room stopped by to say that visiting hours were almost over. Haley sighed and got up from the uncomfortable chair. "My ass has gone numb," she grumbled.

Kirby smiled. His eyelids were growing heavy again, his energy wearing out. "You gonna come by tomorrow?"

"Every day 'til you get outta this place," Haley promised. "Get better, okay?"

"'Kay."

Haley paused at the door, then turned and asked, "You really think it's over?"

Kirby looked at her and slowly nodded. "Yeah."

Haley's smile held a touch of relief. When she was gone, Kirby's own smile faded. He hoped he wasn't lying, but how was he to know for sure?


	7. Film Is Magic

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait. Here it is, the final chapter, complete with adult stuff (hence the M rating). ;-) Thank you all for reading!

**Disclaimer: This chapter's all mine! The rest of it (aside from Haley) isn't.**

The day Kirby was finally released from the hospital, Haley was there to give him a ride home.

"Thanks again for the lift, Timpson."

"No prob. Besides," she grinned, "the cops still have your car impounded."

Kirby groaned. He sensed hours of pain-in-the-ass forms and red tape in his future. He decided to change the subject to something a little more uplifting. "How've things been at the Vogue?"

"Things are awesome. We finally got all the seats reupholstered. And we've been showing _Carnival of Souls_. Had a pretty good turnout for that."

"Great. Add anything to your bug collection?"

Her expression darkened. "Uh, no. I haven't been clipping out cigarette burns since...y'know."

"Yeah..."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Then Kirby shifted in his seat.

"Dude, you okay?"

"Yeah. Stitches are itching like a bitch."

Haley smirked. "Poor baby. Want me to kiss 'em and make it better?"

Kirby snorted. "I'd rather bum a joint off ya."

"Sorry, fresh out. My boss hasn't been around to sign my paycheck." She threw him a mock glare.

Kirby threw up his hands in apology. "Next time I'll make sure to hold off on getting shot 'til after payday." Something occurred to him. "What about the part-timers."

"Relax. I gave 'em some tide-over money from the petty cash. Nobody's quit."

"What the hell would I do without you, Timpson?" Something in his voice drew Haley's gaze to him. Kirby was relaxed in the passenger seat, his head leaning back into the headrest and turned towards her. He was looking at her with a faint smile on his face and for some reason his expression made Haley feel a blush coming on. Embarrassed by her reaction, she quickly turned her attention back to the road.

Kirby inherited his house from his mother when she passed away almost ten years ago. It was a small two-bedroom ranch with an attached garage. Haley pulled up to the curb and put her car into park while Kirby unbuckled his seatbelt. "Wanna come in for a while? Maybe watch a movie or something?"

Haley looked at him in surprise. Up to now their friendship had always been restricted to the theater. "Uh, you sure? I kinda figured you'd wanna get some rest."

"Resting's all I've been doing lately," he grimaced. What he didn't say was that he really didn't want to be alone. He had an underlying sense of dread ever since he was hospitalized. The only time the feeling went away was during Haley's visits. It was bad enough in the hospital, with plenty of nurses and doctors just a call button away. But on his own in that empty house...he really didn't want to think about it. "C'mon, I think I still got some microwave popcorn and we can watch _Little Shop of Horrors,_" he offered in a tempting voice.

Haley quirked an eyebrow. "The original black and white or the musical?"

"Whichever you want."

Haley seemed to mull it over. "I'm kinda in the mood for a musical."

* * *

Kirby barely kept his laughter in check while Haley sang along with Steve Martin about the sadistic delights of modern dentistry. She waved her arms in imitation of the actor's poses, almost knocking the popcorn bowl of her lap a couple of times until Kirby finally grabbed it and set it on the coffee table.

"Sorry," Haley laughed, "Just can't resist chiming in when this scene comes up."

"Don't be sorry. It's kinda cute."

"Cute?" She wrinkled her nose. "Dude, I don't do cute."

"Right." Smiling, Kirby absently reached over and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Both blinked in surprise at the gesture. Kirby looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry."

Haley felt another blush coming on and pretended to study her watch. "Um, it's getting kinda late. Maybe I'd better go-"

"But the movie isn't finished yet." Kirby winced at the hint of desperation he heard in his voice and hoped Haley didn't notice.

Haley hesitated. She really didn't want to leave, but knew if she stayed she'd sooner or later blurt something she could never take back. They'd both been through one hell of a traumatic experience, Kirby especially, and jumping into anything that'd change the dynamics of their relationship would be a huge mistake. A friendship-wrecking mistake. And she loved his friendship too much to risk it.

She rose from the couch. Kirby stood as well. Facing him, she saw in his pleading expression a whole mix of emotions. Fear, loneliness, confusion, longing, all slowly giving way to sad acceptance. Kirby opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say. Maybe make a joke about her boss being a hardass about her showing up for work on time. She never knew for sure. Before she could say anything her vision was suddenly overwhelmed by an image of a flaming circle, like the burning corona of an eclipsed sun. It lasted barely a second, but it left her reeling from its intensity.

Kirby staggered back a step and doubled over, hands clutching the sides of his head. "God. No, no, no, no, this can't be happening. It's supposed to be over!"

"Kirby? Wha-" It happened again, more powerful than the first time. Haley gasped and stumbled. "What am I seeing?" she whimpered, "What's happening?"

Kirby looked at her with wide, terrified eyes. "You gotta get the fuck outta here, Timpson."

Scared as she was, Haley didn't want to leave him like this. "But-"

He grabbed her arm and shoved her towards the door. "_Go!_ Get away from me, Haley! Run!"

The panicked thought kept running through his head: every time. Every time he saw those fucking cigarette burns something awful happened to whoever was near him. Something that maybe _he_ did without remembering after. He couldn't bear the thought of Haley being the next victim of this curse. It would break him.

Haley was close to tears. She still wasn't leaving, goddamn it. She was reaching out to him. "Kirby, I ca-"

The cigarette burn overwhelmed their senses. There was an image in its black center, Annie's face. But she didn't look the same as the last time Kirby saw her in these visions. She wasn't covered with blood or tears, screaming or weeping. She was smiling. "You'll always be my 'sweet man', Kirby," she said tenderly, "I love you."

Her face morphed into a serene image of the Willowy Being. "Thank you," the creature said, just like he had back at Bellinger's mansion. Then everything faded into total darkness.

* * *

Kirby woke from what felt like a long and restful sleep. He heard the sounds of early morning traffic outside his window. He was curled up in bed, in a cozy cocoon of blankets. And he wasn't alone.

His eyes flew open. Inches from him was a mass of curly brown hair. He and his bedmate were spooned together, both his arms wrapped around her, one of his legs tucked between hers. The only way they could've been any closer was if they weren't wearing any clothes. But they were, thank god. Apparently, the only thing they'd removed was their shoes. Relieved flooded through him when he realized he could feel her breathing.

What the hell happened?

Haley stirred, took a deep breath. Kirby knew he should've pulled away from her, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to do it. Truth was, he hadn't felt anything this nice since...since someone else shared this bed.

Haley's body tensed in his arms as soon as she was aware of the situation. Kirby reluctantly loosened his grip as she turned over to face him, but still kept his arms around her. He didn't let himself question why.

Now facing each other, the two of them blinked in awkward silence until Kirby finally muttered, "Good morning."

"Morning?" Haley frowned in confusion. "What the hell happened?" she asked, echoing his earlier thought.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

Haley's gaze shifted as she struggled to remember. "I was starting to leave. Then I saw..."

"The cigarette burns."

"Y-yeah. And in one of 'em, the last one, there was that guy. That weird albino looking dude from the mansion."

"I saw it, too."

She looked at him again. "I don't remember what happened after that."

"Me neither. That always happens after I see the cigarette burns. The blackouts. Then I wake up and-" he swallowed. "Are you okay?" he whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Haley nodded. "Yeah. You okay?"

"Yeah." He sighed in relief. Haley didn't say anything else as he gazed at her for a long moment. It didn't make sense. They both saw those fiery circles and blacked out, but nothing happened. Nothing except that she stayed. More than that, really. She slept in the same bed as him, as if she'd been their to comfort him through a rough night. Was that all that happened?

"Timpson-"

"Dude, I'm pretty sure, given the situation and all we've been through, you earned the right to call me Haley."

Kirby smiled at her words. Haley always liked his smile, infrequent though it was. It made him look like a bashful kid. Sadly, it quickly faded. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"For what?"

"Everything. For getting you into this. For almost getting you killed," he swallowed, "For whatever the hell I might've done to you last night that I can't remember."

Haley frowned at this. "What makes you think you did anything bad? I mean, we're both in one piece and we still got our pants on."

Kirby snorted in amusement. "Maybe _that's _what I'm apologizing for," he joked.

Haley laughed, her face flushed.

Kirby's eyes widened. "Holy shit, you're blushing!"

"Shut up! I am not." She turned her head to bury her face against the pillow.

"Yeah, you are." Kirby suddenly pinned her onto her back. He grinned down at her. "You're blushing like a girl."

"I _am_ a girl, dumbass!"

"No shit? How'd I miss that?" He tugged up the hem of her shirt as if about to peek under it. Haley slapped his hands away and Kirby grabbed her wrists and pinned them on either side of her head, both laughing childishly. Once the moment calmed Kirby's expression turned solemn. "I saw something else last night."

"What?" Haley asked.

"I saw Annie. In the cigarette burns."

"Oh," she muttered, not sure how else to respond.

"I think...she was saying goodbye."

"Oh." Haley winced at her continued one-syllable answers. "Um, you okay?"

Kirby thought about it for a second, then he smiled. "Yeah. I think so."

"I'm glad," she said, and meant it.

Neither one of them spoke again for a long moment. They gazed at each other with a growing sense of intimacy, both from everything they'd experienced together and their positions now, Kirby still pinning Haley to the bed. They should have felt uncomfortable with this, but they didn't. It felt right, somehow. So right that when they kissed, neither could say for sure who started it. It was a brief kiss, each feeling the softness of the other's lips. When it ended, they stared at each other in mild surprise.

"Wow," Kirby murmured.

"Yeah." Haley slipped her wrists free of his loose grip and brought her hands to the back of his head, pulling him down to her. She was shocked at her boldness as she crushed her mouth to his. If she was honest with herself, she'd wanted to kiss him like this for some time, but never worked up the nerve. For one thing, while hardly a virgin, Haley never initiated the first move. For another, it wouldn't have felt right with Kirby for so many reasons. He was her boss, her friend, and he was still feeling the loss of Annie. But now none of these things seemed to matter.

Haley ran the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips. Kirby's mouth parted in response and he shoved his own tongue into her mouth before she had a chance to do the same to him. Haley uttered a surprised sound and fought his tongue for dominance. Her fingers tangled in his light brown hair and she pulled aggressively on the strands. Kirby grunted and bit her lower lip in response.

Both abruptly sat up and flung away their shirts. They were almost frantic, knowing if they paused they would start second-guessing themselves. Haley quickly unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. Her body was shockingly beautiful underneath her habitually baggy clothes. Like a hidden treasure. Petite and curvy, small round breasts with large areolas. Moles speckled her light skin and Kirby wanted to trace their patterns with his fingers and lips. He pushed her down onto her back once again and proceeded to do just that. Haley squirmed when he reached a particularly ticklish spot. She dug her nails into his shoulders and arched beneath him. "Kirby..."

He moaned at the way his name sounded coming from her. He worked his way back up to her lips and kissed her deeply. Her arms snaked around his neck as they explored each other's mouths. Their lower halves, still clad in jeans, slowly thrust against each other. The friction was both arousing and frustrating.

Kirby's hand slid down and popped the button on her jeans, then slowly unzipped the fly. Haley gasped as he slipped his hand under the waistband of her panties to cup her mound. Kirby moaned at the heat and dampness he felt against his palm. Then he shuddered when he felt Haley cup him through his jeans.

Without warning Haley did something that resulted in Kirby lying flat on his back and Haley now straddling him. She all but ripped open his jeans and freed his twitching cock. Before Kirby could react she dove in and took him into her mouth.

Kirby sucked in a rapid gasp of air. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, Timpson!" He gazed down in shock as she deep-throated him. Fuck, as long as it had been for him, and as incredible as this felt now, he knew he wasn't going to last more than a few seconds at this rate. He tried not to be too rough as he pulled her off him and dragged her back up to kiss her. The fingers of one hand were tangled in her dark curls while the other struggled to pull her jeans down past her hips. Haley wriggled out of them and tugged down his jeans as well. Kirby flipped them over so he was once again on top. Haley eagerly spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist, urging him close. Kirby hesitated as something occurred to him. "I don't have a rubber."

"It's okay," Haley assured him, "I'm on the pill, and I know I'm clean."

"Me too," Kirby said. The last couple of years he had the occasional one night stand, but they were few and far between and he always used condoms.

Haley grinned. "Then what're you waiting for?"

Kirby grinned back, then slowly entered her. Something changed then. The urgency they'd experienced up to this point faded into something gentler, more intimate. Kirby gazed down into Haley's deep eyes and slowly rocked his hips. They couldn't look away from each other. Everything they felt and left unsaid was written in their stares.

Haley ran her hands over Kirby's face, memorizing every well-loved feature through touch. Without breaking their stare, Kirby turned his head to kiss her palm. Then he grasped her wrist and brought it to his mouth. He felt the raised scar tissue under his sensitive lips and followed it down her forearm. Haley's breath caught at this unexpected gesture.

"I love your scars," he murmured, "They show me how strong you are."

Haley's eyes welled. "Kirby..."

He kissed her, and their thrusts deepened. Their bodies met with an audible slapping of flesh. Haley spread her legs wider and gripped Kirby's ass, urging him on with eager cries. The sounds mingled with Kirby's grunts. He wouldn't last long at this rate, so he reached between their bodies and started rubbing her clit with the pad of his thumb. He rubbed her in time with his thrusts, bringing her closer to the edge. Soon he felt her legs tremble, felt her inner walls squeeze until he could barely move. He moaned her name, "Haley...", and they tumbled over the edge together.

Haley slowly ran her hands over his back as he rested on top of her for a moment. His weight didn't bother her. It was actually sort of a comfort. After a while Kirby rolled off her, his soft member slipping out of her in the process. He lay on his back and pulled her close until her head was pillowed against his chest. He stroked her hair while they dozed contentedly for a few minutes. Finally, Haley's sleepy voice muttered, "Kirby?"

"Hmm?"

"Was this a one-time thing?"

Kirby's eyes stayed closed. "You want it to be?"

After a pause he heard a quiet, "No."

"Good." He kissed the top of her head.

Haley smiled and snuggled closer to him. "You think this is what he wanted? The albino guy? That why he made us see the cigarette burns one more time?"

Kirby thought about it. "I think giving us a nudge was his way of saying thanks."

"For bringing him the movie?"

"I guess he needed it before he could escape."

"So, it's over now?" Haley asked cautiously, "No more cigarette burns?"

Kirby searched inside himself. The heaviness he'd carried in his soul since Annie's death, as well as the growing darkness he felt since beginning his search for the film, was gone. He felt lighter now. He felt like he wanted to keep living. He coiled his arms around Haley and buried his nose in her hair. "I don't know," he replied honestly, "But one thing's for sure, I can't have you working for me anymore."

Haley's head jerked up. "What? Why the hell not?"

"'Cause we're sleeping together. You can't fuck your boss, it's immoral," he grinned, "So, I guess I'm gonna have to make you my partner."

Haley gaped. "Wait, so...that mean I got my own theater."

"Well, co-own, but yeah."

Her face split into a broad smile. "That is so bitchin'!"

Kirby laughed, pleased with her reaction. He was even more pleased when her head disappeared under the covers to show him just how appreciative she was.

They were going to be okay.


End file.
